


Affirmation

by DraconicSeraphim



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Credence Barebone, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Light BDSM, M/M, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Original Percival Graves Needs a Hug, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Scars, Subspace, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 23:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconicSeraphim/pseuds/DraconicSeraphim
Summary: They were both working on so many pieces of themselves, learning who they were now in the aftermath of Grindelwald’s games, learning who they might be together. If they could be together.Fill for the Credence licking Graves' boots prompt on the kink meme





	

Every breath shuddered out of him, hot and strained. His belly full of lead and butterflies all at once. Pale skin prickled with goosebumps and he briefly longed for the safety of his clothing. Strong calloused fingers threaded through his hair, nearly past his ears now, and some of the weight in his stomach broke apart. The next breath was a sigh and a sliver of his tension eased when the sound was answered with a soft hum. Dark eyes lifted to look at the man seated before him and Credence wondered once again what he had done to deserve this. 

The fingers in his hair drifted down to skate over the back of his neck and the tension returned, singing through him as his breath caught in his chest. Carefully those fingers withdrew, stroking an apology across his cheek with one thumb. Such a simple gesture that had brought him so much relief not so long ago. The motion was a habit for Graves and a carefully mimicked ruse for Grindelwald. It was a traitorous habit that Percival was trying so hard to redirect.

They were both working on so many pieces of themselves, learning who they were now in the aftermath of Grindelwald’s games, learning who they might be together. If they could be together. Credence shuddered at the thought of it all over again. 

Learning was precisely what this was about, too. Learning to trust, something that would never be easy for either of them. It had been nearly an hour since Credence had first undressed, soft music drifting from the radio and gentle coaxing fingers easing him into relaxing. Baring his scarred body was already an act of trust, letting himself be vulnerable for this man whom he had trusted so utterly. Logically he understood that the trust had not been betrayed by Percival himself. It was something they’d discussed in depth and the new scars that peeked over his collar and marred his wrists were subtle reminders of that. 

Still it was so hard to let go of the fear, the anxiety, the flickering heat of anger for what had been stolen from him. Long elegant fingers, criss crossed with their own scars, reached up, hesitating briefly on the buttons of the crisp white dress shirt, edging close enough to Percival’s throat that his hands lifted abruptly, reaching for Credence’s wrists. He stilled the motion as soon as he realized what he was doing, letting his breath out carefully, slow and measured. There was panic there, a fear of touch that Credence recognized and it made the nervous hum in his blood lessen. This time it was his fingers that settled against the back of Percival’s neck as the younger man shifted his weight, sliding easily from where he had been perched on the edge of the couch to instead kneeling in front of Graves.

The next breath that left Percival was the opposite of the last, a sharp, fast exhalation that was equal parts relief and want. He leaned forward into the pressure of Credence’s fingers on his neck, only needing to move a small shift due to how tall Credence was, especially like this, back straight and long limbs extended. There was something hopeful in the younger’s gaze that was at least partially mimicked in Percival’s, just as there was a bit of that lost expression Graves had seen so many times in Credence now creeping through his own dark eyes. So many betrayals, so many hurts. It was a wonder they had gotten here at all. A wonder either of them were alive and whole enough, both physically and mentally, to even begin to bridge the damaged parts of themselves.

A gentle urge forward and a tilt of his head, then Percival’s lips settled over his own, slow and thorough, no rush or demand for more. There didn’t need to be more unless Credence wanted it and, though he did, the younger man smiled softly into the kiss before sitting back on his heels. His fingers slipped from the back of his partner’s neck, following the line of his collar, careful not to touch the lines of scars that Percival was so wary of now. Credence hadn’t figured out how to explain that he liked the scars. Not because he took any joy in the idea of his dear Mr. Graves suffering at the hands of the man who had betrayed him but simply for the visual reminder that they were not the same man. That the man before him was just as damaged as Credence himself , in his own way, and if it was okay for Credence to care for Percival despite all his flaws then it must be okay for Percival to care for him.

His fingers worked slowly, motions almost exaggerated as he unfastened the top two buttons of Percival’s shirt, spreading his collar, displaying those scars for him. Then his fingers were ghosting down arms that were still a little too thin, disuse and starvation leaving the other man wanting for some of his former bulk. The cuffs were undone a little more readily and this time his fingers skimmed over the scars, tracing lines upon lines and only withdrawing when Percival’s hands twitched with discomfort. 

Credence gazed up at him, drinking in the sight of him. Caught just as Credence was between fear and desire, want and distrust. Percival’s breathing was a touch too quick, his dark gaze damp and unfocused as he stared down, not at Credence but at his own hands in his lap, palms down, angry lines of scars clearly visible. It was a total of four buttons but, in that moment, Credence realized that those four buttons made Percival just as vulnerable and bare as Credence was now, naked and kneeling before the other man.

It made his heart ache and he moved before he really knew what he planned to do. It was a strange kind of instinctual response, a show of trust just as profound as what Percival had given to him. So he bowed his head, eyes leaving Percival completely. He would have no warning if the other man chose to strike and his jaw clenched with the spike of fear but he swallowed around it. He did not need to fear this Mr. Graves. He would never need to fear this man.

He didn’t just bow his head though, his entire body moved down, folding all of his height down until he was pressed firmly to the plush carpet. His knees pressed against his belly, his heels firmly against his ass, and if he turned his head just a touch… Credence pillowed his cheek on the toe of one glossy black boot, the smooth well cared for leather surprisingly warm beneath his skin. He breathed out slowly, letting the tension leave his body, letting himself settle into this space below Percival. 

“Credence.” The whisper was so soft he barely heard it, reverent almost like a prayer and Credence shuddered beneath that sound. His lips tilted up in the faintest of smiles and he nuzzled his cheek against Percival’s boot, turning his head just a little, lips brushing over the toe. Fingers stroked over his shoulders, carding through his hair, and every fleeting sensation separated him from the darker parts of his emotions, chased fear and anxiety away in the pursuit of one more touch, one more breathless whisper of his name, one more moment of making his precious Mr. Graves forget how damaged they both were. 

This time when fingers slid through the hair at the nape of his neck he sighed, too lost to sensation and the overwhelming sense of belonging to fear a gesture of comfort. His lips skimmed over rough laces and then back down to smooth, forgiving leather. A ragged breath from above him and his eyes fluttered open, seeing only the fire in the grate beside them, the soft dark fabric of Percival’s pant leg, the shadow of hands on his shoulders, in his hair. He wanted to kiss him again, deeper and longer and more full of wants he was too afraid to express. There was no way to do so without moving though, without breaking the haze of contentment that seemed to come with this strange position at the other man’s feet.

A small shift, eyes drifting closed as lips gave way to tongue and he dragged a long solid swipe from the tip of one toe to his ankle, nuzzling under his pant leg to place another kiss there, still on supple leather even as his nose brushed against Percival’s ankle. Then he settled his cheek back onto his boot, ignoring the dampness from his own tongue in favor of concentrating on the heady rush that came with Percival’s response.

“Such a good boy.”


End file.
